


The Grind

by DisguisedasInnocent



Series: Femslash February 2016 [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin is a barista at a small independent coffee shop called The Grind. Which, coincidentally, is the same small independent coffee shop that Lexa Woods frequents when she's in need of a caffeine fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grind

Clarke slumped forward to rest her elbows on the edge of the counter and rested her chin on her interlocked fingers as the day’s exhaustion pounded through her nerve endings. The blonde haired woman’s legs ached, her feet burning inside her shoes, from the hours of standing behind the counter of the coffee shop serving the costumers. The woman let her eyes flick sideways languidly to take in the hands on the clock ticking on the wall, and a groan left her lips at the mocking tick of the clock’s hands.

“You’ve still got an hour left on your shift, haven’t you Clarke?” Octavia asked with a lift of her eyebrow as she paused in front of the counter, a cleaning cloth hanging from her fingertips, and a small smile etched onto her lips.

“Yes.” Clarke groaned piteously. “I’ve already been on my feet for eight hours O.”

Octavia huffed out a laugh at the way that Clarke’s lips pursed to form a pout. “Nope, don’t go trying that expression on me Princess, you’re the one that took Monty’s afternoon shift.”

“I hadn’t counted on you and Raven dragging me out to go clubbing last night.” Clarke retorted with a shake of her head. “Besides, I owed Monty a favour, and he needed someone to take the shift so he could get ready for his date.”

“Miller, right?” Octavia asked.

“Right,” Clarke nodded. “It’s about time too.”

“You’re telling me,” Octavia chuckled. “They’re almost worse than Raven and my Brother.”

“Well,” Clarke shrugged her shoulders. “You know that those two are experts at repressing their feelings. Though, Raven had a lot of interesting things to say about Bellamy last night. A lot of things that I never wanted to know.”

“Did she give you the whole ‘he’s very good with his tongue’ story as well?” Octavia queried with a lift of her eyebrow. “Because, there are things that I didn’t want to know about my big brother.”

“I had that one,” Clarke admitted. “And another one, that you definitely don’t want to know about, but it is safe to say that their sex life is pretty good considering they won’t admit that they like one another.”

“Ugh,” Octavia groaned rubbing her free hand across her face. “They’re morons, both of them.”

Clarke hummed in reply before saying, “Morons in love.”

Octavia opened her mouth to say something in response but the front door of the coffee shop opened and the bell attached to it rang clearly throughout the room. Clarke’s eyes fluttered away from Octavia to take in the newcomer—brown hair with braids mixed into loose strands, a pair of dark green eyes surrounded by dark eyeliner, and a leather jacket clutched around slender shoulders.

“All yours Clarke,” Octavia murmured, picking her cleaning supplies up as she moved away from the counter.

The dark haired stranger stepped forward smoothly, her thick combat boots barely making a muffled sound on the floor, to take Octavia’s place at the counter.

“Hello,” Clarke said, her lips lifting into a small welcoming smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“An Americano,” The woman answered, her voice soft but it held an edge of steel that sent shivers down Clarke’s spine. “And, a cinnamon bun.”

“One Americano and cinnamon bun coming up.” Clarke answered as she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat when she met the woman’s eyes. “Name?”

“Lexa.” The woman answered. “It doesn’t really seem busy enough now to ask for a name you know.”

“Company policy,” Clarke said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Besides, it always pays to know your costumer’s name.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Lexa murmured, tilting her head to the side as a small smile crossed her lips. “Does it follow that the costumer can ask the barista her name?”

“Of course,” Clarke said ignoring the way that her cheeks flushed pink while she set the coffee machine running. “I’m Clarke.”

“Clarke,” Lexa ran her tongue over the word, rolling it over her taste-buds, before swallowing it. “It’s nice to meet you Clarke.”

“So,” Clarke murmured. “Is this your first time in The Grind?”

“No,” Lexa shook her head, “but it is my first time at anything other than seven in the morning.”

“Do I want to ask why you’re getting coffee that early?” Clarke asked with a lift of her eyebrow, looking up from pouring the freshly brewed coffee into a mug, meeting Lexa’s eyes before scrawling Lexa’s name on the side of the mug.

“I’m a Detective,” Lexa said, lifting her shoulders into a shrug as she reached out to take the mug from Clarke’s hand. “A new transfer to the area, so, I’ve been stuck working the horrible shifts. I like to grab a coffee, read the paper, and wait for the morning commute to happen before going to bed. But, I needed to run errands this afternoon, hence the coffee.”

“Ouch, night shifts.” Clarke winced boxing up a cinnamon bun for Lexa. “I expect that’ll be me in a few years.”

“Oh?” Lexa asked with a quirk of her lips.

“I’m training to be a Doctor.” Clarke answered Lexa’s partly silent question. “Long and unsocial hours seem to go hand in hand with being an intern.”

“So I’ve heard,” Lexa said, handing her money to Clarke when she asked before taking the box with her bun in her free hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Clarke replied with a smile, her eyes tracking Lexa as she walked out of the store.

That night, Clarke’s phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans, leaving a small message behind on the screen for the morning.

“ _It would be rude of me not to reward your bravery Clarke,_ ” The text read, “ _I’d be very interested in going out with you sometime, though, maybe not for coffee. Are you free for dinner on Saturday_?”


End file.
